“So I hear,” he replied, clearly unconvinced.
“And the particular drugs found in body nine: ketamine, ecstasy and cocaine, would be even more unusual as they are more the drugs of choice for a more prosperous sort of person. Not a refugee who has just handed over his last cent, not to mention promised to work for nothing for the rest of his life to repay his debt in order to secure a place in a boat to England.”
“What you are saying” – Miller spoke firmly, standing up and closing his office door so that the whole team weren’t listening in – “is undeniably true, but it’s not impossible that he is just another immigrant, or that he was a member of the gang supposed to deliver the group to their minders in England.”
“In which case he might be known to Interpol.”
Miller sighed.
“I promise you, Callie, we are looking into every possibility.”
Unsurprisingly, he looked tired and Callie was reminded that not only was he dealing with probably the biggest case of his life, with the press and his senior officers breathing down his neck, but that he also had problems on the home front. She knew that Miller’s wife had left him after some explicit photos had been sent to her. The pictures showed him tied up, in bondage gear, on a bed that was definitely not his own. The fact that he had been drugged and set up by a very clever woman, a serial killer that he was investigating, hadn’t mollified his wife. As far as Callie knew, she had yet to forgive him, let alone move back home.
“I’m sure you are doing all you can.” She had to admit that, much as she might not always agree with the way Miller investigated crimes, or at least, where he put most effort, recent cases had proved to her that he did at least make sure all the bases were covered. “But I have a real feeling, belief, instinct, whatever, that this body doesn’t fit with the others.”
“Unfortunately, there is no real evidence to support that feeling.”
“No evidence?” She almost shouted. “Apart from the fact that he was dosed up to the gills with expensive drugs, not to mention alcohol, you mean. He was definitely not sober, to the extent that if he wasn’t one of the refugees, which would seem impossible, he couldn’t be the smuggler in charge of the boat either. He wasn’t in a fit state to steer a pedalo, let alone an overcrowded RIB in a storm. And” – she carried on despite Miller’s attempts to interrupt – “and he had the tattoo of an English football club on his calf. It seems to me you have ample evidence that he doesn’t belong with the others and that you need to investigate that probability straight away.”
When she finally stopped, she was aware that everyone in the incident room was watching, and listening, to the argument. Miller glared at them, and they very quickly went back to their work.
“Look, I don’t need you to tell me what I need to do or not do. And, frankly, it’s more than a little insulting,” Miller almost hissed. “I do know how to do my job, you know.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated that no one seems to be listening to me.”
“Perhaps if you spoke to them in a reasonable way, they’d be more likely to listen to you.”
He really was cross with her, she realised. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You are absolutely right. I didn’t mean to lose my temper like that.”
“That’s your problem. Running off half-cocked, interfering in things that have nothing to do with you. Like turning up at the rally on Saturday. What on earth was that all about? Didn’t you realise we would be there, in the background, collecting information on everyone there?”
“Well, yes, I suppose I did,” she said, although would she have gone herself if she really had known the police would be there? “But I wanted to find out if anyone knew anything about the sabotage to the boat.”
“What do you know about that?”
“Nothing more than what was on the news. A journalist questioned the MP, Ted Savage, about it.”
“Why did you think you might find out more at the rally?”
“Because it seemed like the sort of thing a fanatic from the FNM might do.”
There were a few moments of silence. Miller seemed to be trying to make a decision.
“I can’t think that anyone else would have any reason to damage the boat, can you?” she prodded him.
“The boat wasn’t damaged, at least we don’t think so,” he finally said. “The lab has been over it very carefully, their report specifically raised the question of sabotage and then dismissed it. The damage all seems to be from the boat being dashed against the rocks. It’s understandably hard to be sure but there are no cut marks that they can see.”
“Then where did that reporter get the story?”
“That’s exactly what we’d like to know. Unfortunately, he’s fallen back on the old chestnut of needing to protect his sources.”
Actually, Callie was all in favour of journalists being allowed to protect their sources. It was vital for whistle-blowers everywhere that they were protected but she could understand how frustrating it was for Miller in this case.
“Perhaps someone was trying to pin the blame
